


The Predatory Scorpion of Sinaloa Is Out To Get Us

by annehathaway



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Animal Attack, Bugs and Insects, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annehathaway/pseuds/annehathaway
Summary: this about the old man in the cowboy hat in the first episode who doesn't have a name. why? good question good question
Kudos: 4





	The Predatory Scorpion of Sinaloa Is Out To Get Us

**Author's Note:**

> hi, the person i like (a lot) mentioned how there needs to be more queen of the south fanfiction so i decided to write one up! unfortunately, i've watched hmmm maybe four episodes and don't know who any of the characters are. 
> 
> this is just for fun :) inspired by the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us by sufjan stevens :) (pls listen to the song as a lil soundtrack to this fanfic) 
> 
> also no major characters make an appearance in this fanfic lol

Another day, another scorpion.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Sometimes the odd passerby had a decent story to keep him entertained for all of five minutes. Other times, it was enough to share a shot of tequila when the night felt particularly lonely.

Still, they never stayed.

It wasn’t that he wanted them to but anything was better than being stuck in the same tired routine. Would the days ever stop blending together? He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt so... empty. When was the last time he smiled? Did he even mean it?

There was something to be said about the fact that, without fail, he willed himself to get up in the morning and do it all over again — feeling a little bit colder in his bed despite the stifling heat. 

The stray kept him company at least. As flea-riddled and scrawny as she was, the dog never left his side. Never talked back, either. Behind the tough exterior, his tender heart couldn’t get rid of the mangy thing. Even gave her the same name as the one that roamed the streets back at home — his old home, that is. It was his last standing reminder of the boy next door from a lifetime ago.

They raised that dog together. It didn’t belong to anyone. If anything, it belonged to the woman who owned the food stand that fed him scraps or the grocery clerk that left him a water bowl outside of his store. That’s how things worked back then: you took care of each other. You just did. No one got left behind. He didn’t know when that changed, but he missed the way things used to be.

He remembered the sun on that day. How it beat down on all of them and burned everything it touched to a crisp. It wasn’t a particularly important point to remember but memories were strange like that. Maybe he lingered too long on some of them for his own good. 

Like they’d always done before school, the pair stopped by the makeshift den where the dog slept to drop off some food. His mother complained that it was wasteful, but she still bagged up the leftovers from the night before every single time. You take care of each other, she told him constantly. So, they did. 

Maybe he should have whistled on that day, let it know they were approaching. It was a silly thing to think, but even dogs liked their privacy, right? He couldn’t say why the dog decided to rush him and take a bite at his calf. It didn’t matter. He hated the thing at that very moment, more than anything else he’d ever hated before. His friend had to drag him away, rough hands propping him up and trying to calm his nerves.

If he noticed his teary eyes, he was nice enough not to mention it. 

“I hate that stupid dog,” he said with a shaky voice.

“No, you don’t,” his friend answered with a small smile. “You’re like your mother, you know. You help people even when you don’t have to. You care too much.”

The other boy was right — he didn’t hate it. They wouldn’t have come back the next day to drop off their leftovers if he did. 

When they got home, he watched his friend drop a scorpion into a shallow cup and dip his tiny rag into the murky water. The sting of the venom was sharp, but having the boy around eased his worries. That was when he learned how to treat those wounds in the first place. His friend was the first to leave him behind when he was told to help with his uncle’s farm, but the venom trick still came in handy years later.

He came to visit decades after, the small smile still plastered on his face. Sure, weathered wrinkles lined his features and his hair had grown into a shade of gray, but it was the same one he fell in love with as a kid. 

His grandson shared such a striking resemblance that it nearly knocked the wind out from under him. The old men talked about everything and nothing at all while the boy played with the dog. They spoke of how things can change but stay exactly the same. Still, the long days and even longer nights they spent together went unsaid. It was for the best — people wouldn’t understand. Hell, he barely understood it himself. 

When his grandson came stumbling in through the door with a gash on his arm, he watched his old friend carefully draw the venom out of the scorpion to treat the wound. His kindness felt so familiar. The same hands that cleaned the blood and slobber from his own leg. The same deep laugh that drowned out the hurt and sadness when they were children. It was hard to ignore a person like that. It pained him to know that he would have go to without him especially when he was just within his grasp.

He should have asked him to stay. No one ever did, though. Instead, the man and his grandson got into their truck to go back home. He had to leave sometime, too. Didn’t they all?


End file.
